Number 25

The daylight lessens with every passing second, the chill begins to set in and I am gradually enveloped by disappointment and unhappiness.
The Gypsy continues its way through the dusty, forest road. The engine’s hum, now the only sound for miles around as the entire forest falls suddenly silent.
It’s past six and we’ll leave the forest any moment, all my hopes now crushed like the gravel beneath the tyres. Making our way up a small hillock we abruptly come to a halt. The driver gets down and mutters something about a puncture. The atmosphere changes and now everyone’s tense, fear creeps in. I’m overjoyed, positively thrilled! Images of black and orange dance before me, I don’t care any longer. My wish comes true.

Everyone stiffens, gets back into the vehicle. I witness my first brush with wild beauty, there stands the Tiger. The image is blurred, I wish it was morning. I dig into my bag and fish out my brand new night binoculars. It’s clearer now, the magnificent stripes, the pattern of orange and black, that piercing look. I start breathing again.
I notice a pattern. We’re lucky says the local, this is no ordinary animal. It’s special. Look above the eyes he says…then I notice the number 25.
That night was magical, one like no other. In my own concrete jungle I’m back to my routine. My eyes scan the headlines and there in bold letters it says:

Tiger Trapped! ; Animal gets caught in trap meant for deer, chokes to death. Identified by officials as “number 25”, the animal was special to the locals and a favourite with tourists. This is the most recent case in a slew of tiger deaths. Poaching is on the rise.

The paper is blotchy; a tear runs down my nose, my mother beckons me to finish my breakfast.